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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521429">Bath</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badwolf36/pseuds/Badwolf36'>Badwolf36</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Aquaphobia, Bathtubs, Bubble Bath, Character Study, Episode: s03e11 Alpha Pact, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, Post-Episode: s03e11 Alpha Pact, Season/Series 03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:21:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>553</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521429</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badwolf36/pseuds/Badwolf36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels the phantom touch of ice cubes bumping up against his limbs, and the scent of lavender wafting from the bath transmutes into the smell of mistletoe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written in that nebulous period in Season 3 where Stiles starts losing his mind.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s stupid.</p>
<p>He knows it is, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling the way he does, reacting the way he does.</p>
<p>Because the fact of the matter is, Stiles honestly misses taking baths. He didn’t used to take baths all that often (showers were quicker and evidence of activities other than bathing could be rapidly sluiced away), but he liked to indulge in one sometimes after a hard lacrosse practice or a long night in the woods.</p>
<p>But now, looking down at the hot bath he’s drawn, complete with a headily scented froth of bubbles, he feels panic welling up deep inside him. He feels the phantom touch of ice cubes bumping up against his limbs, and the scent of lavender (Lydia had recommended it for sleep) wafting from the bath transmutes into the smell of mistletoe.</p>
<p>His legs give out, only the bathmat saving his knees from cracking on the hard tile beneath it. It still stings, but it’s not enough to jar loose the thick, heavy <em>thing</em> sitting in his chest.</p>
<p>“You’re not even dreaming, Stiles,” he gasps out, admonishing himself. “This is just a simple bath. Nothing’s going to drag you down. Just get up and step in.”</p>
<p>But he can’t. He just can’t.</p>
<p>He can’t get into the bath.</p>
<p>When it comes right down to it, he can’t even work up the courage to put his hand into the water and pull out the plug because even though he’s awake (he is, he has to be), he’s still worried the branches of the Nemeton will shoot out from the drain and pull him down beneath the water, and he can’t move because the panic has left him weak.</p>
<p>He sort of wants to call out to his dad (who’s been so good about him losing his mind, who’s the <em>reason</em> he’s losing his mind), but he’s having trouble even catching his breath enough for that.</p>
<p>“You’re not asleep,” he tells himself, but it’s hard to really hear that thought above the frantic flutter of his heartbeat echoing through his body. “This is real. Stop being such a coward.”</p>
<p>He’d been more than a little aquaphobic even before the bathtub. Nearly drowning in the school pool had seen to that. But actually drowning? Well, he’s frankly shocked he can still shower.</p>
<p>Turning around, he lets himself shift until his towel-covered lower half hits the bathmat and his back rests against the slowly warming porcelain.</p>
<p>“Pathetic,” he says out loud, glaring at the bathroom cabinet like it’s the oak veneer-and-chipboard’s fault that he can’t force himself to do something as normal as a bath. Sighing, he lets his head thunk back against the edge of the tub, mounds of bubbles drifting by only to pop on his hair.</p>
<p>In an hour, he’ll be able to gather himself enough to get up, sneak down to the kitchen, and steal a pair of tongs (which he’ll use to knock free the plug without having to stick his hand in the water). He’ll let the water drain, then finally drag his aching form under the showerhead, heat turned up as high as it will go without outright scalding him.</p>
<p>But that’s an hour from now. For now, he inhales the soft scent of lavender bubble bath and tries to calm his racing heart.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments are loved!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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